


Mythophobia

by pinkfire



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Demonic Possession, Demons, Explicit Language, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Rituals, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24871279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire
Summary: Yangyang has always loved mysteries, anything that rouses questions in his curious little head. That is, until a peculiar boy named Hendery, dripping with mystery, turns his life upside down. It’s then he realizes he’d much rather know what’s under the surface.
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Mystery. The chips and dents in lacquered oak, each with their own little backstory. The wood itself, crafted with the flesh of a tree from who knows where, sawed by the calloused and overworked hands of who knows who, shaped into the desk that sits in the library at the junction of Ravens Avenue and 32nd Street. These are things that no visitor who leans against it knows, nor cares to know about. 

That’s the beauty of it. This wood has seen, felt, supported so many stories, and you can’t ask it what it knows. You can’t ask it how it felt underneath the governor’s affair in 1997, what it heard from the drug bust just outside the library doors in 2003, what it thought of a hipster couple’s quaint library proposal last week. 

Just like this desk, every person has seen and heard and felt things, experienced life in a different way than the rest. You can ask them, and they can tell you, but you’ll never really know everything they know. So life is one mystery, one that we’re living and breathing in, tasting, experiencing. Some get a law degree and drown in stacks and stacks of paper, pulling red strings across their walls and trying to find the meaning, the answer, the guilty party, others close their eyes and let the criminal named life that lurks in the shadows of the unknown get them if it wants. 

Then there’s the reporter, who simply observes the case, tries some interpretation, shares his thoughts with the public. It’s Yangyang, the twenty-year-old with a blog, where he feigns wisdom with “deep” posts about life, when he doesn’t even know what he wants for dinner tonight, let alone what career he wants to throw his all into. 

He doesn’t let it eat away at his sanity. For now, he has a job at the library and a small apartment that he can, well, afford. He’s breathing, he has his moments of heaven, and that’s all that matters. 

Right now, heaven is the paper McDonald’s cup against his palm, which contains mildly watered down soda with half-melted ice cubes swimming at the top. He can practically feel the carbonation fizzling and bubbling on the other side of the paper, definitely feels the cold water droplets that grow until they’re too heavy to hold themselves up, streak down the side of the cup and run down the back of his hand. 

He feels a little bad for tainting the desk’s story with dripping capitalism, but the air conditioning in this old building is atrocious, and the June heat doesn’t let up against the makeshift fan that is a tattered paperback version of _Winnie-The-Pooh_. The fountain soda is his only hope. Sorry, Pooh. 

He draws a long, refreshing sip from his straw, ignoring the condensation that rains onto his light wash jeans as he watches his coworker waddle toward the desk. The man has a pile of books stacked up to his chin, heaving them onto the polished surface and letting steam out in an exhausted exhale. His blond hair is existing in all sorts of directions, locks falling into his glasses, single strands floating in the air, damp tufts curling at his nape. He’s wearing a lavender cardigan that’s falling off his shoulder, and Yangyang is impressed that he’s keeping his hipster librarian aesthetic in this heat. 

“Scan and shove these for me,” Ten requests, winded from his trip to the book return box. 

“Gotcha.” 

“Oh my God,” he groans, stretching his small frame over the desk to take Yangyang’s cup, “stop getting water everywhere, this building is historical, remember? Preservation!” 

Yangyang narrows his eyes, slipping them toward the series of desks across the center of the building with computers atop them. That was the governor’s idea, of course. To put computers in the library so more people will come and the building would be less a “waste of tax payers’ dollars.” He absolutely hates the new addition. It throws off the classic vibe of the library, Yangyang’s favorite place to have revelations and deep thoughts. Preservation, his ass! 

Ten sucks his tongue against his pretty teeth and gingerly places the cup back into Yangyang’s hand. “Fine. Fuck capitalism.” 

“Fuck capitalism.” He raises his dripping cup to that. 

They share tired smiles, and Ten slips through the creaky back room door to check emails. 

Though he would never say it aloud, Yangyang looks up to his coworker. He’s the closest thing to a big brother he’s ever had, looking out for him, always asking if he ate breakfast, even rolling up his soft cardigan sleeves and threatening those who try to harm Yangyang in any way, shape, or form. Sometimes Ten even invites him over for tea, subsequently “beating” him with a cloth napkin for using the rest of his sugar. 

Hesitantly, he parts with his beverage and wipes his palm on his shirt, grabs the scanner, turns a copy of _1984_ to find the barcode, watches the flickering red line slide over it until a high-pitched beep chops through the silence of the library. 

Approximately five beeps later, someone slips into the library along with a warm gust of wind and a few dead leaves that skip along the marble floor. Yangyang, simply curious, looks up through his fringe at him, and what was supposed to be a quick glance turns into an awed stare. 

The boy who scurried in is, to put it simply, handsome. If you look past the disheveled mess of black hair that falls against his cheekbones, you’ll see flawless skin, a sculpted jawline, a boyish nose, gorgeous eyes that could easily turn someone’s limbs to jelly, all working together to shape a beautiful face with a classic charm. If anything would turn people away from his charming aura, it would be the baggy black clothing decked with various chains and buckles, heavy boots that meet the smooth flooring with a ruckus, various necklaces hanging over his chest and suspending a silver cross, an inverted pentagram, a few crystals—namely what looks like amethyst, carnelian, and clear quartz—that absorb the sun creeping through dusty windows. 

The outfit would never steer Yangyang in the opposite direction, though. He’s curious, fearless to an extent, and in love with the mysterious more than anything. Ten says it’ll get him into trouble one day(and Ten will have to clean the mess, because he’s Ten and Yangyang is endlessly Yangyang). 

The boy is flitting his eyes through his surroundings, hazelnut irises eventually meeting Yangyang’s. His heart thumps especially hard at that moment, so he scrambles to scan the next book on his stack. It’s a little silly, he thinks. The last time his heart did that number on him, it was in high school when the boy behind a Starbucks counter was good-looking, so he proceeded to say “coffee” when asked what size he wanted. Yangyang is an adult now! He can talk to handsome men and not make a fool of himself. 

Courtesy of the boots and the chains, Yangyang doesn’t have to watch to know this boy’s exact whereabouts. Every step comes with a loud thump and the rattling of chain against chain. The steps are traveling along the wall on Yangyang’s left, the one that’s hidden by a massive stretch of tall bookshelves, ones that stop just shy of the windows that display swirling dust particles, a telltale sign that no one bothers to dust up there. 

It’s peculiar that he’s traveling from one end of the wall all the way to the other, because the topics stamped on gold plaques are teen romance, horror, then a striking shift to non-fiction. His search for a book must be _extremely_ generalized. 

A part of Yangyang’s job description is helping people find what they’re looking for, so he tucks a few horror novels under his arm and travels that way. “Hello, is there anything I can help you with?” 

“Just browsing,” he says, displaying what‘s possibly the most alluring voice Yangyang has ever heard. Only two words, and he might already be hooked. 

“Just let me know if you do,” Yangyang practically squeaks, then clears his throat and starts scanning the “S” shelf, eventually finding where _Just After Sunset_ fits and squatting to sandwich it between two other Stephen King works. The keys on his belt jingle against his hip. 

As he shoves the other two horror novels in his hands, he sneaks a few glances toward the handsome stranger. The boy is, oddly enough, not even looking at the _books_. His neck is craned back, eyes locked onto the row of old-fashioned windows as he floats from one end of the shelves to the other. 

He stops in his tracks and smiles, a little curve of his lips that look like a silent “gotcha.” Yangyang follows his gaze to see a crow perched on the windowsill, ruffling its sleek raven feathers and pecking lazily at the glass. It seems fitting for the dust-clouded window of this creepy old library, but Yangyang hasn’t even seen another crow in this town. 

“Um,” the stranger starts, black hair swaying over his eyes as he turns his face to Yangyang. He’s stripping out of his corduroy jacket, revealing a plain tank top that shows off a pair of toned arms. Goddamn. While the shape of his body is definitely worth noting, another interesting feature is the pinkish scar that slithers across his bicep. “It’s really hot in here. Can you hold this for me?” 

Well, a more appropriate request would be locating a book for him, but Yangyang guesses it’s just common courtesy to take the jacket from his hand. He drapes the garment over his forearm, catching a whiff of the stranger’s scent. It’s fucking amazing. Fresh, masculine, warm. 

“Thanks,” the boy says with a smile that could outshine every star in the Milky Way. Then he places his hand on the edge of a shelf, the toe of his boot on another, and he’s scaling the bookshelf like it’s a rock wall, making the weathered oak whine under his weight. Without a lick of guilt, Yangyang ogles at the muscle that ripples under tanned skin with each hoist upward. 

Yangyang honestly couldn’t care less. He isn’t much of a stickler for the rules, and even if he was, “don’t climb the shelves” isn’t explicitly stated on the laminated sign taped onto the front door. The action is still really fucking weird. “What are you doing?” 

“Aha.” The boy has reached the top by now, elbow placed on the wood as he extends his arm toward the window. “I’m getting a book,” he explains. Yangyang hears something sliding over the wood, sees a cloud of dust swirling toward the ornate ceiling. His hand returns into Yangyang’s vision with a heavy book grasped tightly in it. Like he’s practiced parkour since he could walk, he jumps down and lands easily, the smack of his boots against marble echoing through the building. If Yangyang pulled that, he’s sure he would end up a paraplegic. 

Yangyang looks at the book, then up at the boy’s handsome face. “How did you even know that was there?” 

“A friend told me,” he shrugs. “You really need to dust up there. I saw a dead rat.” Gross. A few sweeps across the cover with his palm, and more dust fills the now hazy air. It makes Yangyang’s nose tickle. 

“Yeah, will do.” 

The book looks like an ancient thing, one of those creepy tomes from the movies. Yellowed pages are bound in sun-weathered leather with Satan’s star etched sloppily into the front. Something about it makes Yangyang’s spine twitch, running cold under the warm flesh of his back. He hasn’t felt like something was eerie since middle school. _This_ is creepy. Unsurprisingly, the book has no barcode when the boy turns it to the backside. There’s nothing but scratched leather and the initials “X.DJ.” carved in the upper right corner. How is he supposed to check this book out? 

“Well,” Yangyang says, eyeing the book like it could pounce on him at any moment. “I don’t think this is a part of our inventory, so you can just keep it.” Yeah, he wants this boy to take that thing far away from his workplace. 

“Sweet! I’m Hendery, by the way.” He wipes dust on his chain infested pants and clutches the book to his chest. “I sort of have to go to work soon, so.” 

“Here.” Yangyang extends his arm, black jacket dangling from his hand. “I’m Yangyang.” 

“Keep that with you for now,” Hendery instructs, already taking hurried steps toward the door. “It’s hot outside. Think of it as a collateral. Means I’ll be back tomorrow to flirt with the cute librarian.” With a deep chuckle, he’s out the door and more dead leaves are rushing in. 

Yangyang’s expression blanks. He turns to see if Ten is behind the desk, if maybe he’s the cute librarian that Hendery was referring to, but all he sees is a stack of books and his McDonald’s cup sitting in its own puddle. At the realization, he feels heat rushing up his neck, painting his fair skin with a rosy blush. He considers calling in sick tomorrow, but Ten would see right past his bullshit. 

If Hendery keeps his word, it’ll be a lose-lose situation for poor Yangyang. He’ll either embarrass himself, or end up developing a crush on this weird satanic(but hot) boy. That’s probably the trouble Ten talks about. 

He might love everything mysterious, but even Yangyang has his limits. 

It’s eight thirty when Yangyang gets home and collapses onto his couch in a flustered, confused heap. Something about Hendery and that stupid book makes his mind itch, and he’s ass at not scratching his ant bites. Well, it’s probably because Hendery is attractive. He’s probably not the first person to think about that pretty face well after interacting with him. And that book, to think he was working in the same place as such a cursed object for so long. It makes him wonder what else is hiding in the library. What if there are dead bodies under the floor? Good God. 

At least he’s in his apartment now. It’s small and cozy, and he’s gotten a lot more comfortable than when he moved in about a year ago. He wasn’t really scared to move out of his mom’s house, he was just scared to figure out the washing machine. The first night was only a little uncomfortable, and the window AC unit rattled and hummed nonstop. Now the incessant rattling is more comforting than anything. 

Now that he’s home, skinny limbs sprawled in an awkward position over the navy blue fabric of his sofa, he can relax, check his socials, inevitably daydream about the boy he met today. The black corduroy is draped over his abdomen now(he took it home to keep it safe, definitely not because it smells nice), filling his senses with the refreshing scent of Hendery. 

While scrolling through his phone, he feels something wet nudging at his ear, then little puffs of air from sniffing. He smiles and places the device on the arm of the couch, then rolls onto his side and runs his hand over sleek black fur. “Hey, girl,” he greets, voice high-pitched in the way that it should be when talking to a dog. It’s Liz, the peppy Rottweiler he’s had for four years. He’d had a hard time finding apartments that allowed pets, just so he could keep her instead of leaving her with his mom. 

She keeps sniffing and nudging at his arm, up until she sniffs at Hendery’s jacket. Upon doing so, she whimpers and backs away, hair standing up on her back. It’s like she’s scared it’ll hurt her. 

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows and lifts the jacket, then checks the pockets to see if there’s something sketchy in them. All he finds is a tube of peppermint chapstick. 

This feels like a warning. Maybe, he should stay the fuck away from Hendery. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Yangyang, be careful! Jesus H. Christ.” Ten is about to rip his hair out. There are are probably a few grays hiding among his dirty blond. 

“Chill out!” Yangyang says, wringing the disgusting dust-water sludge out of his washcloth and into a bucket. Ten has a good reason to stress. As a result of yesterday’s strange events, Yangyang came to the conclusion that this library needs to stay spotless. So he’s balancing on a rickety wooden ladder(the only one they had in the supply room), wiping the bookshelves clean of dust and satanism. 

Ten pushes his glasses up into the hair he surprisingly still has, making room to pinch the bridge of his nose and inhale deeply. Most likely counting to ten. “You know what, I need coffee,” he grumbles, glasses falling back onto his nose as he walks away from the disaster that is Liu Yangyang. He would try to coax him into getting off the ladder and calling a maid service to do the dirty work, but once Yangyang has his mind set, there’s no stopping him. No matter how stupid his goal is. So Yangyang is left to it, scrubbing the oak clean of grime that’s built up over time, squinting in the sun that shines right through the windows. 

He’s dressed for the occasion, wearing denim overalls, dingy converse, and a bandana tied into his hair, keeping the brown fringe from obstructing his vision. Logically, wearing such an outfit would prevent any scary witch boys from flirting with him. That’s the idea, anyway. His mom might say he looks adorable in overalls, but that’s his mom, so. 

“Hey, cutie.” A deep voice says from behind him, and oh God, Yangyang was not expecting that. He startles, jolting and making the ladder rattle against the bookshelf. The wood underneath his converse creaks at the sudden motion, and the sound of a rough crack accompanies Yangyang’s yelp. He’s tumbling off the ladder, heart flying to the ceiling as he accepts his fate. Looks like he _is_ going to become a paraplegic.

But instead of hard marble, he lands ungracefully in a pair of strong arms, consequently sending them both to the floor. Hendery laughs. The sound has no business being that hot. “Falling for me already?” His arms are wrapped lazily across Yangyang’s abdomen, palms pressed against his waist. Yangyang’s heart is falling from the ceiling and plunging back into his chest, pumping his blood ten times faster than it should. 

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” He tries to roll off of Hendery’s body, only ending up face-to-face because of the grip he has, hands splayed over the dirty marble floor. Hendery is just as unfathomably handsome as he was yesterday, smug grin, messy hair, and all. Does he even own a comb? He’s attractive regardless, and Yangyang is feeling so hot that there must be steam shooting out of his ears. 

“What am I even witnessing?” Ten nearly screeches, making both boys snap their heads up. His eyes are the size of frisbees, and yeah, Yangyang definitely sees a gray hair glinting in the sunlight. The stressed mom energy is strong with this one. 

Yangyang scrambles to get up, accidentally kneeing Hendery in the stomach with a small “sorry.” 

“I swear, you’re a trouble magnet,” Ten goes on to complain, trying to grab the(now broken) ladder, but deciding it’s too heavy. “I’ll get that later,” he huffs, waving his arm noncommittally and scurrying off yet again. Yangyang isn’t dead, and that’s all he wanted to know. 

Hendery says “sorry for scaring you” while he lifts himself from the ground, smacking dirt off of his backside. If he’d worn the same outfit as yesterday, Yangyang would’ve heard Hendery as soon as he walked in the door. Instead, his outfit is much different, meaning his approach was silent. It’s something like a skater’s outfit, a simple tee pulled over a striped sweater, jeans, black vans. The only necklace he’s wearing today is a crystal, light pink. It must be rose quartz, which Yangyang recalls is associated with love. Is that for success with him? Kind of cute. 

“It’s fine. Sorry for falling on you.” 

“I’m not complaining.” 

Yangyang laughs awkwardly and tugs at the denim of his overall straps. “Your jacket is in the back room, I’ll go get it for you.” 

Even after Hendery acquires his jacket, he picks out some science book, explaining that he’s taking environmental studies in university. Yangyang wouldn’t have pegged him as a university guy, but that’s why you don’t judge a book by its cover. The thought has him starting to feel a little bad as he sits behind the desk, blushing every time Hendery looks up and winks at him. He just sort of assumed that Hendery must be a bad guy because he wears all black and is interested in witchcraft—which Yangyang has even considered practicing himself—or whatever it is. It was also very superstitious of him to get scared about what happened with his dog. She could’ve just reacted badly to Hendery’s cologne. How bad could he be? He actually seems really sweet. 

Yangyang can’t resist, anyway. One of the most handsome men he’s ever seen, who is also sweet and interesting and mysterious, is interested in _him_. Apparently so interested that he stays in the library for Yangyang’s entire shift, eventually switching his book to _Papillon_ , then giving up on reading altogether to make a rose out of paper and tuck it behind Yangyang’s ear. 

“Let me take you to dinner,” Hendery says, chin in his palm and stars in his eyes. People don’t usually look at Yangyang like that, so it has his heart kicking up again. 

He looks away, focused on logging out of the desk computer and shutting it down. “When I’m dressed like this?” 

“What do you mean? You look adorable,” Hendery coos. He must’ve been possessed by Yangyang’s mom for a second. 

Yangyang snorts, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, right.” 

“So. Dinner?” 

“Okay, fine. Have me home before 11, though. I have to feed my dog.” He props the back room door open with his hip, shouting “I’m out, Ten. Love you!” and only gets a mock vomiting sound in response. 

The town they live in is cramped. One of the most popular areas, where the library and Yangyang’s apartment reside, has multiple story, old fashioned buildings lined up and pressed against each other, interrupted by the odd alleyway, park, or parking lot. The nearest lot is a few blocks away, and that’s where Hendery’s car is. It’s a good thing Yangyang’s apartment is walking distance, otherwise he’d have to retrieve a car later tonight. 

“This is a date,” Hendery states, leaving no room for argument. Yangyang wouldn’t even think to correct him. Not when the streetlights highlight his handsome features, cast an orangish glow over his dark hair. He looks heaven sent, ironically enough. “Have you been to that Italian restaurant downtown?” 

“No. I don’t get out much.” 

“Let’s change that. What if I take you out every day?” The question makes Yangyang smile, though he can’t help but feel wary. Hendery is so charming, sweet, and from what he can see, perfect. Maybe whatever rituals and spells he uses are working wonders on him. If not, this whole perfect and charming thing is a big red flag. Yangyang has seen enough crime shows to know what happens with the charming ones. They have the darkest secrets. 

“I don’t have the money for that,” he says, watching the frayed laces of his converse drag over the pavement. 

“You think I would let you pay for anything?” 

“Hendery,” Yangyang whines, “you just met me. Why are you being like this?” 

A few seconds of silence stretch through the summer night air, so Yangyang turns his head up to look at Hendery. He looks solemn, the fire in his eyes shrinking into flickering embers as he tugs his sleeves over his palms. “Usually, boys think I’m unapproachable. But you don’t seem like you judge me at all, and you’ve been nice to me, so. I’m just lonely recently. Didn’t want to ruin my chance.” 

Again, Yangyang feels guilty. Here he is, thinking Hendery is suspicious because of his _charm_ of all things, but he’s still just, sweet. 

“Sorry. I’ll stop if it creeps you out.” 

“No! I was just wondering,” Yangyang dismisses, “I like it. You don’t have to pay for anything of mine, though.” 

“That’ll be an argument when the check comes,” Hendery says, the hint of a sour mood already evaporated from his eyes. He takes a turn now that they’ve reached the parking lot and digs his keys out of his pocket. There are only two, joined on a cross shaped keychain.

The car he jams a key into is a black 1984 Cadillac, sleek metal reflecting the exact shape of a lamppost’s silhouette. It’s _that_ clean. “Damn, this is yours?” 

“Nah, I’m stealing it,” Hendery jokes. He pops the driver’s door open and slips inside, making the suspension sink under his weight. 

With an eye roll that’s without malice, thanks to Yangyang’s unrelenting smile, he plops into the passenger seat and pulls the door shut. The aroma that washes over him is heavenly, and there isn’t even a car freshener, that’s just Hendery’s scent. Taking a shameless deep breath through his nose, he essentially melts against the leather as he yanks a seatbelt across his chest. 

The Italian restaurant that Hendery takes him to is small and local, decorated with fairy lights and a plethora of potted plants. Of course he wouldn’t bother with a chain restaurant. An environmental science major and most likely a witch, Hendery is the type to prefer places like these. 

Their conversations over the table are about Hendery’s major, Yangyang’s dog, and other random stuff that comes up. Because of their talking, it takes quite a while to finish their food. Yangyang guesses that means they’re hitting it off. 

“How did you like it?” Hendery is twirling spaghetti around his fork, making an annoying sound as it scrapes against the glass plate. 

“It’s good,” Yangyang says, letting his fork fall into his plate after he shovels the last ravioli into his mouth. 

The waiter comes by and places the check on their table, and Hendery grabs it faster than Yangyang can swallow his mouthful. Once he does, Hendery is already placing a few bills into the small black folder. “Wait, I’ll pay.” 

“Nope.” 

He wants to argue more, but Hendery scoops him out of the booth and holds him like a bride, carrying him out of the restaurant as a few other parties shoot them weird looks. “Oh my God, Hendery. You’re so embarrassing,” he whines, clutching his shoulders and nosing at his neck anyway. Hendery’s shoulders are firm and muscular under his hands, and his smell is so amazing up close that it’s dizzying. 

He just met this man, but he’s already falling, and not literally this time. 

“Aw, who cares?” Hendery laughs and gently places Yangyang onto his feet, grasping his hand instead. Yangyang’s heart flutters wildly at the sudden action, willing his shaky fingers to nudge their way between Hendery’s. His hand is considerably warmer than Yangyang’s own, a little bigger. It feels safe. This feels better than Yangyang’s first kiss, so much more electric. 

“While we’re here, can I swing by a store?” 

“Sure.” 

“You aren’t scared of witchcraft, are you?” 

“I feel like I wouldn’t be with you right now if I were,” Yangyang says, reaching his free hand over to poke at the rose quartz hanging against Hendery’s chest. 

“Fair enough.” A genuine smile plays on Hendery’s face, and he seems shy about it, looking away and biting his lip. 

After a short walk, Hendery stops in front of a small shop. The sign is worn-down, something latin written in script that Yangyang can’t read at this time of night. The front windows have curtains right behind them, dark red with glittering gold streaks of thread in random places, gold tassels floating just over the floor. 

A bell jingles as Hendery pushes the door open and tugs Yangyang into the shop. It smells strongly of incense and candle wax inside, which isn’t all that surprising, given the lit incense on the desk, feeding a light cloud of haze into the air. There are a few candles lit around the room, as well. Yangyang thinks it’s a fire hazard, given that most the walls are decorated with curtains and beautiful tapestries. “This place is cool,” he says, picking a chip of turquoise up from a wooden bin of stones and crystals, rubbing the cool object between his fingers. 

“Right?” Hendery smiles fondly, most likely relived that Yangyang isn’t turned away by his interests. 

A brunet emerges from a door in the back of the shop, his sharp, yet fairy-like features lighting up at the sight of Hendery. “Dery!” he cheers, practically running to pull him into a tight hug, wide, silken sleeves billowing from the motion. “It’s been a while.” 

“Yeah, I just haven’t found myself on this side of town,” Hendery says, then leans in to whisper something quick into the male’s ear. 

He releases Hendery from his hug, expression falling and brightening up again just as fast when he sees Yangyang. “Who is this?” 

“Oh, this is Yangyang. My future boyfriend.” That makes Yangyang drop the turquoise on the floor, letting a small patter roam over hardwood. “Yangyang, this is Sicheng.” 

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “Sorry I dropped your um—“ 

“That’s okay. I’ll find it eventually,” Sicheng assures. He travels the small distance to the front desk and picks up a book, flipping it open and starting to scan the pages. 

Hendery is looking at candles now, selecting a few plain red ones and cradling them in his right arm. So Yangyang leaves him to it, gravitating toward a rack with pretty crystal pendants dangling from it. The crystals clink against each other as Yangyang runs his fingertips across them. A semi-transparent, aqua colored crystal catches his attention, so he picks it off of the rack and holds it against the light of a nearby candle. 

“Fluorite,” Hendery hums, hooking his chin over Yangyang’s shoulder. “It helps you focus, keeps the chaos out of your life and your mind.” 

“You must do your research.” 

“You could say that.” A deep chuckle has Hendery’s throat vibrating against Yangyang’s shoulder. “Do you want it?” 

“Oh, no,” Yangyang starts, but Hendery is taking it from his fingers and unclasping it, pulling it around Yangyang’s neck and fastening it there. 

“Magic is the most beautiful gift you can give someone. It’s all about intentions. Especially when other people are involved, bad intentions lead to backfire. So, if someone gives you something like this, you can probably trust them.” 

“Hendery—“ 

“I’m buying it for you,” Hendery states. Final. He has a certain tone when he isn’t up for argument. 

“You already spoil me.” 

“It’ll get worse.” Hendery laughs at Yangyang’s responding groan. “You’ll get used to it.” Then he drags him toward the desk. 

While bagging the three candles Hendery bought, Sicheng eyes Yangyang a few times. He simply looks intrigued. “I’m picking up some strong energy from you,” he says, sliding the paper bag across the desk. “You seem like you have an intense connection to the other side.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Pshht, don’t listen to him, he has a weird sense of humor.” Hendery gives Sicheng a cold glare, to which he just rolls his eyes at. “Bye, Sicheng!” 

“So you really went on a date with a guy you just met?” Ten scrutinizes. He’s sitting cross-legged on his leather couch, pressing the next channel button over and over again. At this point, Yangyang doesn’t think he’s even paying attention to the programs that flash onto the screen. There’s no way he hasn’t found anything within seventy eight channels. 

It’s around two in the afternoon, and they already had their tea, so now they’re just lazing around. 

“It’s not that crazy. What are blind dates, huh?” 

“Okay, but you’re _Yangyang_. Bad luck follows you like your own little personal storm cloud. You could’ve gotten, like, kidnapped. Or murdered!” 

“I didn’t, though,” Yangyang says, voice lilting in an annoying way. “You care about me so much, Tennie. You love me!” He flings himself across the couch and latches onto Ten’s side, nuzzling against it like a cat. 

“Ew.” Ten pushes Yangyang away by the forehead. “I’m just trying to be the voice of reason here.” 

The door to Ten’s apartment opens, so they both peek over the back of the couch like a pair of meerkats. In walks a tall, broad-shouldered male with white hair. He has a bouquet of flowers in his hand, full of red roses and baby’s breath. “Oh, you have company?” the male asks, slipping his shoes off and sauntering in like he lives here. The door was locked, so he must at least have a key. 

“Voice of reason, huh? Who even is that?” Yangyang asks, pointing at the guy who’s now standing awkwardly by the couch. 

Ten’s ears flush bright red under his piercings. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. “That’s Lucas. I’ve known him for four days, though,” he sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over, Xuxi?” 

“Uh...” 

“Four day— he has the key to your fucking apartment!” 

“Okay, but I’m Ten. T. E. N. I have much better luck than you. All I’m saying is, if this guy kills you, I’m going to roast you at your funeral.” 


	3. Chapter 3

A phone call stirs Yangyang from his sleep while it’s still dark outside, the only thing in his vision being orange lines of light from a lamppost outside. He sits up and yawns, squinting at his alarm clock. It reads 3:45. Who would call him this early? With a huff, he picks his phone up and slides the pad of his thumb across his screen, holding it to his ear and letting the bluish light spread over his cheek. “Hello?” 

“Did I wake you?” It’s Hendery. His voice is rough with sleep. 

It’s way too early for this, but excitement still bubbles in Yangyang’s chest. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. What’s up?” 

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, the faint jingling of keys. “I wanna watch the sunrise with you.” 

“The sun doesn’t rise for another two hours.” 

“Yeah, I know. But I have a place I want to show you, it’s kinda far.” 

Yangyang thinks for a second, Ten’s voice ringing in his head, “Yangyang, you idiot! You have a death wish.” Following someone he met two days ago, to an unknown location, at 3:48 in the morning, well. His mind doesn’t work the same at this hour, so he’s throwing his blanket aside and sauntering into the bathroom. “Okay, call me when you get here.” 

He brushes his teeth, fights a comb through his hair, throws on jeans and a hoodie. He’s stepping into a pair of slides when his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Once he gets downstairs, he finds Hendery leaning against his Cadillac, smiling sleepily. “Hey, angel.” Use of the pet name has Yangyang’s heart acting up. Hendery looks cozy and, well, cuddly. Sticking with his usual color palette, just black, he’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. 

There’s something intimate about late night(or very early morning) car rides. Laughing at each other’s tired slip-ups in speech, seeing each other all sleepy and comfortable. Maybe it just feels like this with Hendery, but being with nothing but him, his old Cadillac, and black trees whizzing by, it’s safe and warm. It’s almost like they’ve been dating for years. 

The car ride stretches for about two hours. They listen to metal and rock, Hendery’s suggestions, then Yangyang requests classical music. It doesn’t matter what’s on the radio, though. They talk almost the entire time, when Yangyang isn’t dozing off. At some point, they end up with their hands interlocked in Yangyang’s lap, and refuse to let go until the car is parked.

The terrain has gotten bumpier, higher, and they have to hike a little bit to get to their destination. Hendery offers to carry Yangyang at least three times, to which he declines, whining “Hendery, stop spoiling me.” 

The hike is definitely worth it. They’re up on a cliff, where they can see road stretching in the distance, the various hills and mountains around the area, blanketed by the shine of moonlight. The breeze is fresh up here, playing in Yangyang’s hair and gently nudging it around. 

“You’re crazy,” Yangyang says, watching in horror as Hendery sits with his legs dangling casually off the edge of the cliff. 

He laughs and twists to look at Yangyang, patting the spot next to him. “Never claimed I wasn’t.” 

Yangyang hesitantly walks closer and peeks over the edge, cringing at the treetops he sees at least 100 feet below him. They look like threatening spikes, ready to bring Yangyang to his painful end at one misplaced footstep. 

“I won’t let you get hurt, come on,” Hendery says, arm extended toward Yangyang. He’s easy to trust. 

Yangyang sighs and carefully sits next to Hendery, clinging to his side as soon as his bottom touches the ground. It’s cozy, face pressed against Hendery’s firm chest, Hendery’s arm rubbing his waist, and he smells amazing as always, so it doesn’t take long to get comfortable. If he closes his eyes, he might think he’s sitting in the safety of his own home instead of on the edge of a high cliff. The sky is already fading into a murky gradient of blue and dark orange. Perfect timing. It makes Yangyang wonder if Hendery does this a lot. 

“How did you know about this?”

“My grandma brought me up here every Saturday,” Hendery says, resting his chin on top of Yangyang’s hair. “Even after she died, I kept coming here. Thought I would call and see if you wanted to come with me. I didn’t think you would actually say yes.” 

After hearing that, this gesture has a lot more meaning. It’s like Yangyang has fallen into some romance movie. “How could I possibly say no?” 

The sun is beginning to peek over the horizon, painting the sky orange, the clouds pretty swirls of yellow and purple. Now Yangyang is in a romance movie and staring straight into a classic oil painting. Just two days ago, he was sneezing in the dusty town library, getting condensation all over the counter to Ten’s dismay. It already feels like he’s lived through an entire love story, but this is just the start. The _start_. The thought has Yangyang beyond giddy. 

He looks up at Hendery, smiling when he sees that he’s already looking at him, adoration swirling in his eyes, orange sun playing over his shiny hair. “Why aren’t you looking at the sunset?” Yangyang asks, reaching up to sweep some misbehaved locks out of Hendery’s eyes. 

“You’re prettier.” 

“Shut up.” 

Shut up he does, quirking a brow and pulling Yangyang closer by the waist. He’s leaning in, eyes locked on Yangyang’s lips. 

Yangyang is the one to dive in, surging forward and pressing his lips against Hendery’s. The kiss is short and tender, Hendery rubbing Yangyang’s hip and Yangyang playing with the pendant around his neck. Hendery’s lips are soft of course, unsurprisingly cool and tasting of peppermint. 

“Pretty,” Hendery whispers against Yangyang’s lips, pecks them again, and again. “Date me.” And again. 

“How can I possibly say no?” 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to Hendery. 

“Do you have a job? Do you go to school? What are your intentions with Yangyang?” Big brother Ten is at it again. 

Hendery sinks against the wooden booth, sipping his iced coffee and huffing through his nose. Yangyang will remember not to go on a double date with Ten ever again. The four of them are at a small café, sitting by the window where the sun attacks Lucas’s eyes. While three of them are wearing whites and bright colors, Hendery definitely stands out today, black leather jacket, choker with a cross charm dangling over his Adam’s apple, heavy boots, and all. 

“Tennie, come on. I’m not interrogating your date!” Yangyang whines. 

“It’s okay,” Hendery laughs airily, placing his coffee on the table. “It’s cute. He cares about you.” 

“Ha! Even he thinks so.” 

“Oh, shut up! Answer my questions, Wednesday Adams,” Ten says, pointing his cute little finger at Hendery’s nose. 

“Ten!” Yangyang whines again. 

Lucas laughs into his hand. 

“Okay, okay. Yes, I have a job at Spencer’s. Yes, I study environmental science. My intention is to treat him like the beautiful angel he is.” 

“Hendery!” Yeah, Yangyang is done with this double dating thing. It was Ten’s idea, but now he sees why. 

Ten hums thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. He seems halfway pleased with Hendery’s answers. Then he slowly eats a French fry before throwing more questions at him. “Spencer’s, huh? Are you, like, a freak in the sheets, then?” He squints at the multiple necklaces Hendery is wearing. “Are you a witch?” 

“Oh my God!” Yangyang throws a fry at Ten. He ignores it. 

Lucas is in hysterics now, hitting the table and laughing into Ten’s shoulder. 

“A ‘freak in the sheets’?” Hendery mocks, “Ask Yangyang in a few weeks.” 

Yangyang nearly chokes on his water. Ten’s jaw drops. Lucas is beyond entertained. 

“Unacceptable answer! You fail!” Ten squawks, pointing a threatening french fry in Hendery’s direction. “Disgusting.” His eyes narrow to a point where they might be closed. “Are you a witch, though?” 

“Yes, I am. Is there something wrong with that?” 

“You’re being serious?” 

Hendery nods.

“I guess... not?” Ten says, but the look on his face tells Yangyang that he has a huge problem with it. “I have to piss. Yangyang, come on.” He couldn’t have made it any more obvious that he’s about to host a bathroom conference, but Yangyang gets up and follows him to the bathroom anyway, not without an eye-roll and a whispered “sorry” to Hendery.

As soon as the bathroom door shuts, Ten starts rambling, not minding the person standing at a urinal. “Are you kidding me, Yangyang? I don’t like him! He gives off, like, really weird vibes. _And_ he’s a witch? I know that stuff isn’t real, but he probably has some weird god complex or does blood rituals. Not cool!” 

The person at the urinal gives Ten a weird look as he slips past them to wash his hands. Ten doesn’t care. He’s never been the type to get embarrassed for anything. 

“Listen, I really like him. He’s actually so sweet, and I think he’s cool. You know witchcraft isn’t anything crazy! It’s like, balance and meditation and nature or some crap. Whatever, he’s the sweetest man I’ve ever met.” 

“You’ve known him for a week! I bet it’s all an act. He’s trying to lure you so he can use you as a human sacrifice.” 

“Seriously? I love you, Ten, but you’re getting on my nerves. Just give him a chance and be nice. Please? For me?” 

“Oh, whatever. Fine. I just care about you, okay?” 

“You finally admit it!” 

“Ew, bye.” 

For the next week, Hendery and Yangyang see each other every day. Hendery takes Yangyang to dinner often, visits him at work and reads through a few horror novels. They’re falling into each other’s routines, and Yangyang likes it. Hendery is becoming familiar and constant. It’s probably dangerous, since Yangyang would feel the hole in his life if Hendery up and left him. As much as he trusts Hendery, he hasn’t known him for that long. Hendery might fall out of love easily. Yangyang doesn’t think he’ll fall out of love with Hendery any time soon. 

He even becomes an entry on his blog. One night, sitting on his bed with his dog curled against his side, blue light illuminating his smile, Yangyang types: 

_Isn’t it crazy how easily we fall for people? One day, you’re just living by a routine, comfortable. All it takes is that one person to walk into your life, and the next day, your goals are new, your wants are new, life is new. Change is the only constant in the universe, so how can we not fall in love with that?_

_ If that person walks into your life, I say go for it. See how they make life look different. And never fear change.  _

_ Xoxo, Y2.  _

A few of the comments pick at how he’s definitely found a boy. He has. He’s found Hendery.

He’s still smiling when he closes his laptop and yawns, ready to call it a night. His phone rings, Hendery’s name and a heart emoji appears on the screen. On second thought, he’ll call it a night later. It might be 1:23 in the morning, but he’s used to Hendery calling him at weird hours. His smile gets wider when he holds the phone to his ear. “Hi, baby.” 

“Hey, um, can I ask you for something kind of, um, weird?” Hendery’s voice sounds flat, solemn. 

“Go ahead.” 

“So, it’s my grandma’s birthday today and I want to... see her, I guess? There’s this ritual, and it’s my first time doing something like this so I’m a little scared. Please, come with me? I get it if you think that’s weird and don’t want to so—“ 

“Hendery. I’ll do anything for you, don’t you know that?” 

“Oh, really? Thank you so much, beautiful. It’s gonna be at that spot I took you to last week, if that’s okay? It’s where she died, so.” 

“Yes, baby, it’s okay. I’m here for you. Text me when you get here.” 

“Okay! Thank you so so much, you’re the best boyfriend ever.” 

The line beeps, and Yangyang pockets his phone, gets up, throws some shoes on, kisses Liz on the forehead. His mind wanders for a second, thinking of Ten’s lovely line “He’s trying to lure you so he can use you as a human sacrifice.” He hates that it makes his heart stop for a second. He trusts Hendery. Hendery would never kill him. He would never kill anyone. 

When he walks outside, Hendery isn’t smiling this time. His expression is flat, cheeks glistening. Yangyang can’t help but pull him into a hug, kiss the salty tears from his cheekbones. 

The car ride is much quieter this time. No music. No talking. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable, though. They’re still holding hands, Yangyang giving comforting kisses to the back of Hendery’s every now and then. 

Hendery brings a duffel bag on the hike. He still offers to carry Yangyang, a weak smile on his lips. Yangyang furiously declines, then offers to carry Hendery instead. That makes him laugh, saying “since when does the princess carry the prince?” Even sad, Hendery is full of jokes. 

When they reach the top, Hendery says Yangyang can just sit on a rock, so he does. He watches Hendery drag a long stick through the sand and pebbles, creating a large pentagram on the ground. It’s when Hendery pulls out the book from the library that Yangyang starts to feel uneasy. He notices that no clouds hang in the air. It’s a full moon tonight. The air is so full of an invisible, evil presence that it’s almost suffocating. 

“She’s definitely not in heaven,” Hendery explains, a fond smile, probably from memories, on his lips as he places red candles at each point of the star. “That’s okay, she was just wild. She was fun. I think the system is funny, you know.” He lets out an empty chuckle. “You go to hell for having fun.” 

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” Yangyang says, playing with a shoelace nervously. “I’m an atheist, I think. I don’t know. Guess I’m scared that I would go to hell if I were religious.” 

Hendery laughs again. It still sounds empty. “You would never. You’re already an angel, so you belong in heaven, baby.” 

“Cheesy.” 

Hendery gives Yangyang another weak smile before pulling out plastic baggies, dumping them each into a section of the star. Small bones, nightshades, a few unidentifiable powders. Then he flicks a lighter on, the glow playing with his handsome features as he lights each of the candles. “Thank you for being here with me,” he says, serious. “I probably would’ve been too scared.” 

Yangyang smiles and says “I would do anything for you.” 

It makes Hendery smile, too, genuinely this time. He flips through the fragile, yellowed pages of the book until he finds the page he’s looking for. When the book is open, it makes Yangyang feel even queasier. It’s like a demon has its cold hands around his neck, pressing and cutting off his air, making him nauseous with the need for oxygen. Hendery seems unfazed, though. He’s whispering something, probably in latin, the same unintelligible phrase over and over again. Nothing happens. He tries again, mumbling a little more frantic this time, but nothing. 

After a few more tries, there are tears flowing down his cheeks, dripping into the sand. “God, this is stupid,” he chokes out, wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. “Fuck.” He swipes his hand through the pentagram, interrupting the shape with five curved lines. “It doesn’t work.” 

It doesn’t take long for Hendery to burst into a fit of tears, so Yangyang hugs him close, soothing him with back rubs. He feels a cold gust of wind, watches it whisk flames from the candlewicks and turn them to smoke. Then he feels a lighter presence. “I think she’s here, baby. Like, I don’t think you’d be able to see her. Just, say something,” he whispers, carding his hands through Hendery’s messy locks. 

He must not believe it, talking to Yangyang instead of directing it toward his grandmother. “I just want her to know that I loved her.” 

“That all?” 

“Yeah, let me take you home. Sorry you had to see me like this.” 

Yangyang holds Hendery’s cheeks, gives him a peck on the lips. “Never apologize for something like that. I want you no matter how sad or happy you are. I want every part of you.” 

Hendery cries again, squeezing Yangyang in a warm embrace. “God, fuck. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 


End file.
